Threads burn Orange
by erasexmyself
Summary: ...and orange has never been my favorite color. AU
1. Chapter 1

The park was empty this hour, almost as empty as my heart. I really could do morbid with the best of them, I'd miss coming here, I'd miss sitting on this park bench, day after day, watching as eventually the leaves would change color and my cheeks would get rosier.

Today, it was cold, or maybe, it was just me. Everything was different now, everything felt different. I was fully aware that I couldn't hear the birds chirping, the only sound was that of the buzzing in my mind, the buzzing I couldn't switch off.

My stomach grumbled, I was hungry, only, I couldn't stand to eat anything, everything was tarnished by the taste of Iron.

I shivered, I wiped a tear, I'd not cry, I couldn't cry, not again, I'd been through this before. I watched as an old homeless man woke up, picking up his blanket, and moving on. Was he just a passer by in life, was that all I was?

The worst place to be, is alone, alone with your thoughts and nothing but. Thoughts can be dangerous, thoughts can lead to dreams of good health and a life without misery, a life with nothing but happiness. I really did have that once, I had it all. I felt so alive, I was alive, I was happy, happy and living my destiny, of song and stage and a heart full of love.

Now my heart was full of darkness, darkness and blood that betrayed me. It's very difficult to be happy when your own body turns against you, when you feel utter betrayal.

Today, I feel bitter, bitter, not from the taste of iron, or from investing in an alarm that'll ring on the dot 8am each morning, an alarm I won't have to change again. 8am will forever be important to me; well, important until my forever runs dry.

It's easy to lose interest when you've got nothing to live for, when your hope that once dangled on a string, runs out, when the string burns and nothing is left but the smell of smoke in the air and fingers that smell like ash. My fingers tingle, they always tingle, I look down to my pale frame, pale, with the pattern of purple that decorates certain spots.

X marks the spot where the needle goes deep. I try to blink away my thoughts, it's easier said than done.

I wonder if it'll be easier to share my thoughts with someone else, if unleashing all this drama I've created upon someone else would make me feel better at the end of the day?

I wonder if I'm lonely? Perhaps I just need someone to keep me company? Someone new, not old, I shiver, what for, wouldn't it all be a waste, making a new friend, only to have them disappear a few months from now? Only to have me disappear?

You put so much effort into friendships, into meeting new people, and harvesting some sort of a friendship. You need time for that, time and patience. I was never one for patience, friendships yes, but patience no.

I shiver again, these lies I'm telling myself, these lies I'm filling my mind with, I have friends, I have people, I have happy friends who like to sing and dance, and pretend everything is okay. I have friends I've shut out, out of hope they'd leave me alone but they never do, because I am the string that keeps us all together, I'm the string that doesn't burn , that only unravels day by day.

I start to feel uncomfortable, from this old bench, or from my thoughts of the friends I'm supposed to care so deeply for, but it's difficult, it's difficult to care, to care about anything at all when right now, at this moment I don't have a care in this world, they were taken from me, exactly 82 days ago.

I cough, I frown, I hate coughing, I avoid looking at the hand I put in front of my mouth, I refuse to feel any liquid that may be on it. I nervously wipe my hand on my skirt and stand up, because I'm wasting away sitting here, because time really should be precious, I should be singing and dancing, I should be happy, happy and living life to the fullest only doing that requires so much effort, so much energy that I'm not sure I have anymore.

I think about going back home, I think about facing her, the one person who's not shut out, the one person who gets to experience it all, without even knowing, I think about the lies I've been telling her, the arguments we've been having, affairs I've been accused of having, arguments I've not really fought, because how do you fight back? How do you tell someone you love the truth? It's supposed to be easy, you're always supposed to tell the one's you love the honest truth, but how do you do that, when deep down all you want is to protect them? When deep down, all you want is to stay with them forever?

For 82 days I've tried, for 82 days I've avoided eye contact, I've missed dinner invites, I've gone to bed crying, praying she'd not notice. That's a lie though, by day 17, I'd run out of tears, by day 17, I was too sick – from guilt, probably.

The train ride home is spent watching those around me, wondering how they live their lives, if they're making the most of it, or an empty shell, just like me.

I get home, it's quiet, it's always so quiet, I always hold my breath before entering our apartment, too afraid that she'll be gone, too afraid that we've fought one fight too many, that she'd get fed up, that she'd abandon me.

I stand in the empty hallway, I cough, I wipe my skirt again, I look down, red. Always red, red, red, fucking red.

I'm tired of this, I really am so tired of this, but really, at the end of the day, what can I do?

"You're home," she's in front of me, I look up, examining the frown on her face, I cannot remember when last I've seen her smile, I cannot remember when last I've bothered to notice.

I feel dizzy, so very dizzy, her hands move up to steady me, I'm so tired of that frown, I'm so tired, so very tired,

"You're bloody," Now it's my turn to frown, I don't need any reminders.

She sighs, and let's go of me, and mumbles, "It's going to be a long evening," as she walks away from me.

I don't want her to walk away, I never ever want her to walk away from me,

"Wait, please, wait."

She stops, pauses and turns around, I'm looking at her shoes, they're new, I used to notice these things, I used to shop with her.

"What do you want Rachel?" She's frustrated now.

I dreamt of this moment, in my mind, if I'd ever be brave enough to tell her the truth? It's been difficult doing this on my own, it's been difficult having strength for one.

I'm too caught up in my own mind to say anything, back to that dangerous place that is so difficult to stray from.

"I uh, I'm going to go to bed, I'm tired." I'm such a coward, I make my way towards our bedroom, a bedroom we've not shared for 32 days, her hand grabs mine, I flinch. From shock, or pain, I don't know.

I'm so sensitive these days, physically, and emotionally.

"You need to eat," her voice has changed, she's being gentle, and I really don't deserve it for all I'm going to put her through.

I force out a smile, I try making eye contact,

"I'm not hungry,"

That sigh again, more mumbling, "At least whoever you're fucking has the decency to feed you,"

I flinch, I feel the blood drain from my face, it would be so easy if she would flee, if she would leave me, wouldn't it?

She picks a vase up, a vase filled with dying flowers, oh how I identify. She's walking away from me again, I don't like when she walks away,

"I have Cancer,"

The vase drops.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know what I expected, after unburdening myself so, after sharing this disease that's been eating away at me – literally.

Time stands still, or perhaps, I'm wiling it to - a reaction, any reaction, would be better than the silence that fills this house, ever since my words of honesty betrayed me.

I'm still in the hallway, she's gone, the broken vase forgotten. I'm unsure of what to do, I'm so focused on her non reaction that I fail to have a reaction of my own.

I think I'm angry, angry at myself for confessing this secret at all, maybe it would've been easier if I lied, if I'd admitted to an affair, if I had given her the right to leave, then again would she, would she leave if she's spent all these months still living in this house, with me, thinking I was cheating on her.

What type of person would do that anyway? I shake my head, no, I will not think ill of Quinn.

My stomach growls, again, a reminder of how hungry I am. I tip toe to the kitchen, avoiding the glass, she's sitting at the Kitchen table, head bowed, cheeks red. I wonder if I should say something? I open my mouth, but no words come out, instead I move to the fridge and take out a tub of yogurt, something my stomach allows me to eat.

I'm so unsure of what to do, I'm so uncomfortable in this room, dizzy again, I sit. The only sound to be heard is the clock ticking, another reminder that my time is running out.

I try so hard to make eye contact – I'm finally ready to, only, this time it's her that avoids looking at me, this time it's her that refuses me. I wish she was doing anything other than just sitting there.

The phone rings, I jump, slightly, an intrusion, a distraction, I get up to take the call,

"Leave it," I do, too afraid to upset this room that's already in dismay.

Her voice sounds rough, strained. She's on edge.

The phone stops, I tap my fingers, waiting, waiting for something to happen, for an explosion of words, a reaction I'm so desperate for, only it doesn't come, I'm not sure if it even will.

She sighs, and I'm so tired of her sighs, I'm so tired of being the cause of these sighs that forever seem to betray our love.

"You're quite right about going to Bed, it's been a long day." She get's up, I glance at the clock, it's only late afternoon, still far too early to sleep.

She's gone, my air is back, I inhale deeply, I'm shaking, I don't want to be shaking, I'm fighting back tears I don't really have. Abandonment, is this what it feels like? Is this the final straw? I have a bout of nervousness, what if she's going to start packing, what if tonight is the night she leaves, because really, who wants to stay with a dying girlfriend?

The phone rings again, only this time I answer. Another call, another Doctor's appointment, another finger to prick, story of my life, I'm so tired of these phone calls. I whisper my responses, only this time, it's unnecessary, Quinn knows, oh my God, Quinn knows. I panic, I hyperventilate. I slump back onto the Kitchen counter. The call is a blur, I take note of my next appointment, and hang up.

I dig out the Calendar I've been hiding behind a bottle of Ketchup we never use, the appointments are getting closer and closer, the blood I'm receiving never lasting.

Friday, 10am, I draw a blood drop, oh how creative I am. I need to keep busy, I need to do something to keep my mind off all things Quinn. I clean up the mess in the hallway, I chuck out the flowers, I repack the pantry, making sure my Cancer Calendar stays hidden, not sure why, it's all in the open now. I may as well put it up on the fridge, have my wounds open for all to see.

The spare bedroom door is open, I expect to see Quinn inside, curled up in a ball, protecting herself, the position I've often caught her sleeping in, only the bedroom is empty, she's not inside – the scent of her lingers though, my heart sinks. She's gone, Quinn is gone. My heart burns.

I need to gather myself, I knew this would happen, eventually, I always knew it, and perhaps that's why I kept this all in. At the end of the day, it was all about this deep fear I had, a fear bigger than dying, a fear of losing Quinn. I need to wash my face, I need to keep moving, I need to keep breathing because if the Cancer doesn't kill me, my heart surely will.

I open my bedroom door, and gasp, Quinn is there, she's in my bed – our bed, I fight the urge to rush to her, to throw my arms around her and tell her just how much I need her, only I don't know how, I don't know what this means. Too much damage has been done to return to a perfectly neat bed.

Is she reclaiming this room as hers, are we to trade bedrooms? I'm I to be banished from here on out?

Her eyes find mine, finally, for a brief few seconds, she looks away, turns away, and makes herself small, into that protective ball.

I don't think I've ever felt as rejected as in that moment, I cannot face her any longer, my heart cannot take it, I turn, and exit the room, bypassing the spare bedroom and settling on the couch, willing myself to sleep, willing the buzzing which is now in my heart to just stop.

Friday comes all too soon, it's supposed to be a happy day, one day closer to weekend, only I don't have that feeling, I hate Friday, I hate every second of it, especially 10am.

I really wish they'd update the Magazines they have here, then again why would they? Do the people coming here live long enough to make it from issue to issue? I cringe.

I close my eyes, shutting out those around me, I shut my eyes to avoid the jealousy that hits me each time I see loving mothers, spouses, friends who attend these appointments to show their support. I close my eyes to avoid fellow patients, I cannot look into their sick faces, I cannot stand to recognize myself in them. I allow myself to day dream, to dream of sandy beaches and a smiling girlfriend who loves me still.

The seat next to me dips, another patient, someone new to make small talk with, another Jane, or Mary, with a life story desperate to be told to anyone who'd give them the time of day, that's never me, I never listen.

I don't acknowledge them, I do take comfort in their scent though, the same scent as Quinn. My day dreams are turning real, just missing the sandy beach.

I feel it before it happens, a hand slowly reaching for mine, my eyes snap open, I want to pull my hand away, only I don't, I smile, I smile wider than I've smiled in a very long time. Her hand entwines with mine, and I so happily let it.

Quinn smiles too, and gives my hand a squeeze,

"I'm here. It'll be okay."


End file.
